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2012-08-25 All In
Bobby's Room - famed for hosting high stakes poker games for the some of the world's richest and most talented players - has been closed to the public for 24 hours straight--ever since the small man with the black eyepatch and freshly pressed white suit a dozen of his Madripoorean business associates in and started throwing stupid amounts of money around to reserve the space for themselves. 24 hours later, the businessmen are laying around the lavishly furnished card lounge in varying states of shock. The small, one-eyed man - Patch, they call him - is still sitting at the table, shuffling up the deck for the next round. He's grinning from ear to ear, so wide that his oddly sharp front teeth are bared; light bounces from the diamonds studding the watch he won from one of his associates as he flicks the cards from hand to hand. His hair is thick, barely tamed despite his attempts at slicking it back; moreover, it extends all the way down the sides of his face in big, bushy sideburns. "Well," Patch begins as he pushes the deck together and slides it across the table to be cut; his grin grows even wider, taking on a markedly predatory quality. "Guess I'll have to go easy on you, eh?" He gestures broadly to the door, then drapes that arm over the back of his chair. "'less you wanna save yourself the time, anyway; I know this breakfast joint we could hit..." Stupid amounts of money is precisely what it takes to gain the Cuckoos' interest. They've been watching from a distance, their minds sliding in and out of the businessmen and the waitstaff. Of course, so much more interesting than money is the funny little man whose mind they can't read. Random surface thoughts manifest in his sphere as though from nowhere. Underneath, simply... nothing. Like a shining wall. |"Someone important placed that."| They know of few minds stronger than their gestalt, and it gives them pause. They've gotten bold lately. |"We want to see,"| they murmur. |"With eyes."| There is something oddly familiar about him that they can't quite place. |"He could be dangerous,"| Sophie warns. To them. That he's dangerous to others is a given, with that grin. One of Logan's associates is having a slightly better night than the others--he thinks. He's got no idea where this blonde here came from, but she says it would be brilliant for him to keep playing. He can bring her, too, apparently. Money? Where does it all come from. One minute he's looking at a fine rack, the next he's staring at $10k straps and bearer bonds. He doesn't know which to grope first. "Look what I found," he blusters, rolling back up to the table. "A friend." Now, folks when drunk usually see double. Or triple. Not the other way around. This yahoo is gesturing at one girl when Patch can clearly see that there are three--tall, blonde, barely dressed in white. Unless his eyes have gone, because they are absolutely flawless replicas of each other, down to the scent. They smell really good, too. Calm and young and sweet and very, very interested. "We hate to interrupt." One young woman slides into a vacant seat. "But you seem to be running out of playmates." "And that's a shame." They don't talk in unison but the words just move from one to another. "We like playing." Logan's surface thoughts are of blood and murder and strange smells and harsh noises; there's very little order to them, and those intense sensory impressions seem to stick out more than anything. "Shoulda taken the meal," Patch jabs as he drags his last associate's chips to himself. Shaking his head, he gathers the cards up and starts getting them back together. "I'da paid." Just before he can slide the deck back into its box, he is interrupted by Lee and his friend--s. His brow wrinkles in confusion as he sweeps his eyes across the three girls. "Huh," he eventually concludes; he decides to humor both parties for now and just focus on the one Lee sees. "Fair enough." The cards go into the box and he flicks it over to the Cuckoos. "Your deal." "You'll have to be gentle with us." The girl who takes the cards has clever, quick hands as she unboxes the cards and shuffles. There's a good deal of experience in the motions--mostly stolen, but Patch doesn't need to know that. "We're still learning," another says, putting her chin in her hands while she watches him. That's not entirely dishonest, but the smile all the girls wear is mischievous, on the verge of laughing. "You look like an excellent teacher." Another girl takes the cards and offers them to Logan to cut if he'd like. The gestalt sorts through the thoughts it gleans as the girls speak. |"He feels like Laura, always hunting."| |"It's nice."| |"He seems very useful."| They're very pleased with their find. Happy. Not the least bit concerned about losing at cards, losing money. That's not the game they're playing now. Lee bellies up to the table next to the girls - he's sure to leave an empty chair between himself and the one he can actually see, even if he doesn't really know /why/ - and starts alternating between throwing bills out onto the felt and sloppily dragging chips towards himself. To his credit, the math actually works out pretty well, even if he is hammered. "Hah!" he exhales as his 'friend' warns Logan to be gentle. "You have nothing to worry about--ol' Patch here was just /lucky/, that's all." He slaps the table a few times. "Not any/more/, though, right? Right? Right. Henh." He belches quietly and rushes to cover his mouth up. Meanwhile, Logan just stares at the girls and cuts the cards; their manner, combined with their sweet smells and the fact that nobody else seems to notice two of them has his hair on end. "Texas hold 'em," he quietly instructs as he hands the cards back to them; despite his wariness, he does what he can to keep his voice even. "You sure about this, darlin'?" He gestures to the sad, broken Madripooreans littering the lounge and arches a brow. "/One'a/ you's gotta have more sense than the rest've them." The girls laugh in unison. "It's only money." "The world is full of it." "And we measure our pride... on a different scale." They give him an eerily identical coy smile and a little shrug while one of them is sorting bonds, cash, and chips to give themselves something with which to play. "Poker's only one game we play." "There are others we like more." "And we don't lose those games." They lean forward in unison, arms folded on the table, blue eyes so bright they seem lit from within. "Are you sure about this?" The gestalt is full of laughter. |"This is far more fun than playing meatpuppet."| |"We should keep him."| |"It's nice to have surprises."| Their assessment of risk is so very far from the norm. This risk, they've decided is worth it for the potential pay off. The Three-In-One's smile mostly serves to agitate Patch, who can't help but let out a low, rumbling growl as he narrows his eyes on one of them. He's been at this for a day straight and could keep going for days more if he wanted, but the girls' seeming disregard for the risk they're about to assume - to say nothing of the way they keep /looking/ at him - makes him want to hurry home and find a student to educate the hell out of. When they lean towards him, he actually leans away; not only that, he nearly gets up and leaves the table entirely, rather than press the issue any further. Taking money from scummy businessmen was one thing, but he isn't entirely sure what /this/ is. "Hh--of course." He slowly exhales and straightens. "I got nothin' to worry about, darlin'; just ask /these/ losers," he gruffly adds. Meanwhile, Lee drums really, really loudly on the table; he seems to have no sense of rhythm whatsoever. The gestalt regards him seriously, the amusement fading in the real world and the group mind. Of course, this means an even more intense triple scrutiny. On the other hand, they are skilled at settling Laura down and have a very soothing voice. "Why are you worried?" They have to ask or they'd simply find out for themselves to relieve the distress. "We only want to play with you." "We don't want to hurt you." That's the concern they have to deal with most of the time--that someone would worry about them is still alien. Life goes on around them as though Patch hadn't gotten up at all. "You're interesting." "Come back." "We do want to play." They hold their ground and resist the urge to try touching with the gestalt--the blocks might not be placed voluntarily and could be trapped somehow. "We'll be good," they promise all at once. Logan's eyes slide towards one of the hidden girls when they ask why he's worried. "I'm good," he dismisses as he refocuses on the visible one. He's trying not to show it, but there's still a discomfited edge to his voice; he still shifts uncomfortably a few times as they try to soothe him with /their/ voices, too. "Deal away," he mutters. "Grab some chips; it's only money, right?" He leans back in his seat, lacing his fingers behind his head. "Seems to me like I've got plenty right now." He glances to the other hidden girl. "No worries /here/." "That's right." "It's only money." "We can always make more." One of the girls shuffles, the others are neatly stacking chips. "We think you can, too," the one dealing says. Now here's the downside of not being able to touch his mind. "We'd show you our truth," one of them says. "If we could touch your mind." "But we don't want anyone to get hurt." Lee and a couple other guys are carrying a conversation with the girl they can see... that for all intents and purposes is only happening for them. "We could either avoid you," they say once the cards are dealt. "Or we could meet you." "And you remind us of a friend." They give him a smile. "We like what we can see of your mind." All the blood and chaos and anger... dangerous, yes, but only if one's on the wrong side of it. Physical violence doesn't frighten them. In fact, it all makes sense. "Sounds like you need a new friend," Patch grunts as he peeks at his cards; anything to keep his eyes off of the girls. The very idea that anyone could rifle around in his head and /like/ it is unsettling enough on its own; add in the gestalt's inhuman calm and it's all he can do to keep from showing his teeth and growling. His nose twitches a little as he tries to get some read on them, but all he gets are those same strange, sweet fragrances that tell him nothing he needs - or wants - to know. "I promise you," he lowly continues, tapping the side of his skull, "there ain't nothin' /good/ up here." He briefly looks up at the dealer, eyes narrowed. "I reckon you're wastin' your time /and/ your money, if that's what brought you here." "We come here all the time." "We like to play money." They're looking at their cards and conferring in the gestalt. "Then you and your friends had so much..." And they couldn't resist. One of them opens the bidding, one folds, they wait for Lee to decide what he's doing. "You're judging your own mind." "By the standards of this world." They give him a compassionate look. "There are worse worlds than this one." Patch listens as chips hit the table--or don't; no need to watch the girls do their betting when he can count the chips out as they collide with each other and/or the felt. "Might be worse out there," he cautiously and quietly allows as he tosses his own bet in, "but this is the one I gotta live in." He meets the dealer's eyes just long enough to say, "We ain't all got the luxury'a floatin' through it on our own terms." With a brisk gesture, he indicates Lee - who has his arm curled around the empty air where he imagines his 'friend's' shoulders to be - and shakes his head. "Some of us are stuck playin' the hand we're dealt." When they get to the point of Lee being the only better, it takes him a fair few seconds to respond; he's busy with his imaginary conversation. Eventually, though, he snaps his head towards the game, shouts, "Call!" flicks a chip into the pile and looks away to confer with his friend. Two seconds later, he looks down at his chips again, features alight with drunken, manic inspiration. He starts pushing /all/ of his pile to the center of the table and smugly amends, "I've changed my mind: all in." He flashes his phantom friend a winning smile, then looks down expectantly at the pair of 2s he's holding. "We're all stuck playing the hand we're dealt," the girls say mildly. They look over at Lee and laugh quietly before sobering again. "It's not so much that we were dealt a better hand as we bought into a far bigger game." They turn their blue stares on Logan and the remaining two in play push their chips in to the center of the table. "Or, rather, someone else bought us in and now we have to play or... well, dying is not the worst thing." "We've decided to play everything we can put our hands on." "As they say in this game here, we are all in." "You girls have a lotta years ahead of you t' be so non-chalant about losin' em," Logan murmurs as he looks between the two red queens in his hand and the three cold, curious princesses across the table from him. "Only so much luck to go around; the players who win big are the ones who /think/ about the risks before makin' em." With a soft, sad sigh, he pushes his cards together, drops them to the table face down and pushes them into the center with the chips. "Guess today ain't the day for it to run out, though." He gives the girls a small nod, pushes back from the table and starts heading for the door. He tries to hide his wince when he passes by the girls and a little chill runs down his spine. "Thanks for the game; g'luck with yours." He glances to one of the businessmen who /isn't/ preoccupied with staring at the visible Cuckoo and lowly instructs, "Send the money to the bar; you know what'll happen if it ain't there," in Madripoorean. "There are worse things than being dead," the girls say again. "Like being used." They turn to look at him as one. "Surely you know this." They can't read his past but they can feel his age and his anxiety clearly. They let him take his leave and start stacking chips. "We hope to see you again." Whether he sees them or not is a matter to be determined later. Category:Logs Category:RPLogs